


Billy Hargrove and the terrible, horrible, no good, very bad day

by thursdayknight



Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: Billy Hargrove Needs a Hug, Billy Hargrove is Bad at Communicating, Bisexual Steve Harrington, Canon Era, Gay Billy Hargrove, M/M, and Steve helps, billy hargrove has a bad day, but he deals with it kinda
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-13
Updated: 2020-10-13
Packaged: 2021-03-08 01:16:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,471
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26997328
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thursdayknight/pseuds/thursdayknight
Summary: Billy has a bad day.Steve helps.
Relationships: Billy Hargrove/Steve Harrington
Comments: 8
Kudos: 93





	Billy Hargrove and the terrible, horrible, no good, very bad day

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Thei](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Thei/gifts).



> This fic is for ihni/thei, who drew me fanart recently for a thing and when I said I'd write her fic for it asked for "hmm, I've been feeling overworked lately, how about some exhausted, bone-tired Billy? Free interpretation on that!" So here you go! I hope you like it.
> 
> (And yes, the title is from one of my favorite childhood books, why do you ask? :))

It's been a long fucking day. The kind of ugly, awful, long fucking day that's had Billy snarling at everyone he's come across, the kind of day that's had him low enough that the only thing he's grateful for right now is that he hasn't _threatened_ anyone. Or _hit_ anyone, though he's certainly had the urge. He's felt the urge, the one he used to let fly free as easy as breathing, that urge, he's had it just under his skin all day and every trick he's learned through years of therapy and introspection are only just barely keeping it at bay.

But there's a saving grace. His shift is almost up. Five more minutes and he can go home and take a shower and get this sweat and beer stench off his clothes, off his body, he can put on his favorite sweatpants and dive into re-reading IT and it'll be okay.

It'll be okay if he can just make it these next five minutes. 

He makes it three before Anthony, the new guy, comes up and asks him if he'll stay an extra hour, saying he wants (needs) to go deal with a roommate squabble or something at home.

Billy pictures biting this guy's arm clean off as he tells him that, no, he won't be staying late tonight because he is not, in fact, anyone's fucking babysitter. He took this shift and he can work it 'til it's done, that's what working is, what having a job is and if Anthony is too young to know that, it's not Billy's job to teach him.

Once Billy's done with his little spiel Anthony looks like he just might cry, but he also lets him go. And Billy's time is up, so he grabs his jacket from under the bar and he goes.

Outside it's cold. Like freeze certain body parts off cold. It's cold and it's snowed and Billy kicks at one of the front tires of his cheap, shitty second-hand shit brown Toyota, the one he's hated ever since the day he bought it, the one that will never, could never take the place of his beloved Camaro but that was all he could afford at the time, given the circumstances. 

He continues to kick at the tire and even adds in some screams for good measure, hoping it'll at least make him feel better, but it doesn't. It gets him nowhere.

He hates the snow and he hates the cold and he hates Indianapolis and he hates his car and he hates this day and there's nothing he can do about any of it.

And okay, usually he doesn't mind living in Indianapolis that much, usually, he can accept the fact that they won't be here forever, that they're just here while Steve finishes up school. 

He's put up with cold weather for years now and while he hates it, he's used to it. And at least it isn't as bad as it was that first year out here in the midwest, where he had no proper jacket and no money for one.

Same goes for working two jobs, he's done it for years and he's used to that, too.

Usually.

He's used to it, usually. But today, man. Today… today fucking sucks. Today is the culmination of a lot of bad things all lined up in a row and he can't help but feel it all the way down to his toes. 

He hasn't had a single day off in two weeks, he didn't get a wink of sleep last night for absolutely no reason whatsoever, he was just up all night watching Steve sleep peacefully while his mind came up with scenario after scenario, grisly image after grisly image of all the bad things that could happen to Steve, the one person he loves most in the world. All the monsters that could get to him both human and non-human. (Not to mention certain three-lettered viruses that are currently tearing through the population of guys just like them all across the country, the continent, the world.)

And then, to make all of that worse, in his exhaustion, he forgot his lunch at home. And _then_ at least six different middle-aged women hit on him at the bar and since he's come out, he's realized he really, aggressively, actually hates that. He doesn't like women hitting on him to begin with, but women more than twice his age doing it? It makes his skin crawl and makes him feel like he needs to burn all his clothes and take a long, hot shower. 

And _then_ one of them spilled their drink on him and didn't even apologize for it, either, just giggled drunkenly and tottered off on her stupidly high, stupidly pink high heels.

So all in all, it's been a long, terrible, shitty fucking day. 

It only gets worse when Billy gets home. 

There isn't any gum anywhere in the kitchen but he does find Steve's secret stash of cigarettes and that, well, that punches his craving in the face more than the gum would've helped in the first place.

Then his favorite sweatpants are in the dirty laundry hamper, still covered in mustard from that cooking incident last week. 

Then, to top it all off, like the cherry on top of the shit cake that is this day, that is his life at this point, the hot water in the shower only lasts for about five minutes, leaving Billy, who has never liked anything cold that wasn't the ocean, to stand there shivering and washing the shampoo out of his hair with cold water. 

Then Steve gets home and something in Billy erupts.

Steve's barely just taken his shoes off when Billy's yelling at him, "And what the hell are these?" and throwing the dusty, bent, and probably years-old pack of cigarettes at him. 

They both _know_ that Steve hasn't smoked in years, they both _know_ that the cigarettes were less a dirty little secret and more something forgotten at the back of a junk drawer, but Steve blushes like a tomato at the accusation anyway. "Ummm…" he squeaks, voice a good bit higher than it normally is. "Nothing?" 

This is the wrong answer and it has Billy huffing in anger. "I quit a month ago on your say so and you made me dump out every single cigarette I had and this whole time you've been holding out on me? Like you're allowed to smoke but I'm not?"

"Okay, first," Steve says, all manner of squeakiness in his voice gone and replaced by something much more steely and layered with a heavy resolve. "Quitting was your idea. You talked about it for almost a year before I gently nudged you into doing it and—" 

"Nudged! You insisted!" Billy shouts, interrupting Steve before he had a chance to finish. "You made me do it!" 

Everything falls to silence after this and Steve's face is instantly inscrutable. Billy swallows and it feels like he's trying to swallow around a marble or maybe something bigger. He starts to feel guilty. He knows he's picked a fight over nothing. 

Fortunately, so does Steve. So without saying anything, Steve reaches down, grabs the cigarettes, and squeezes past Billy, even though he's taking up most of the space in the hall and marches to the kitchen where he immediately chucks the cigarettes into the garbage can.

Billy follows after him, head down, and waits.

And Steve makes him wait. 

For about three minutes, then he says, "Have you calmed down yet?"

Billy nods. 

"You wanna tell me what's really bothering you?"

Billy nods and looks up. "Bad day," he says. 

And he waits, as always, for something bad to happen. For Steve to get mad at him. For Steve to tell him he's done, this is over, five years has been more than long enough. He's paid his dues, done his time and now he's out. He deserves someone better than Billy, someone who isn't this much of a jackass, someone who isn't carrying so much baggage, someone who doesn't get angry over nothing like this. 

But instead, as always, Steve walks forward and takes Billy's hands in his and kisses his knuckles gently. "Would making dinner and cuddling on the couch help?" he says, soft, as always. 

And again, Billy just nods and this time he lets Steve step in closer and hug him, lets Steve's warmth wrap around him and lets out a deep breath and buries his nose in the side of Steve's neck and breathes in deep.

It doesn't make the entirety of his bad day go away, it doesn't make the stress of the past few weeks go away and it doesn't make his exhaustion go away, either, but it helps.

Steve always helps.


End file.
